


Beck and Call and Response

by volatileSoloist



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Amputation, Awkward Boners, Blackmail, Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Consensual Violence, Corruption, Dubious Consent, Grinding, Guro, Kink Discovery, Masochism, Mutilation, Other, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist
Summary: Caustic blackmails Bloodhound into torturing him, for his own amusement.Bloodhound makes a few self discoveries in the process.





	Beck and Call and Response

**Author's Note:**

> For my main ho Riley!!! Love you bitch!!
> 
> Thanks to [Halo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BagelHero/pseuds/Gibaraltar), [Steph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliottWitt/pseuds/ElliottWitt), and [(other) Riley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlushRumps) for beta-ing!

Bloodhound was very much used to being in control.

They were a tool of the gods, of course, and so Bloodhound yielded to their judgement, but when it came to the way they composed themself and interacted with other mortals, they were always regulated, calm, and in command.

So how had things gotten this far out of hand?

——

If they had to trace it all back, they’d say it was the first time they killed Caustic in the Apex Games. It hadn’t been all that eventful for Bloodhound. Their squadmates had taken care of his accomplices, and as he ran off with both banners, all it had taken was several clean shots from their Longbow to get the ‘squad downed’ notification. And then they’d moved onto the next target.

But evidently it had meant so much more to Caustic.

In the following game, Bloodhound had successfully tracked down many enemies with their team, until said teammates had run off and gotten themselves killed outside the ring. Then it was just them, and the one other remaining player. Said player had holed up in a small building and somehow blocked all the doors, preventing easy access inside. Bloodhound readied themself to kick in the door, and only when it was too late did they see the silhouette of another person behind them.

 _CRASH_.

The force of their assailant’s kick smashed them into the door, and then the door itself buckled and fell inwards, sending Bloodhound tumbling to the floor. The moment they hit the ground, they were already moving to stand once more and fight, but as they did, they bumped into a large, balloon-like container—and with a _hissssss_ , a foul yellow gas began to seep into the air. Within moments, it obscured everything around them.

Not being able to see put a brief spark of panic into Bloodhound, but with a calm breath, they reminded themself that they didn’t need their eyes in order to be aware of their surroundings. With the help of their technology, they extended their senses, intently searching for their assailant. With the sound of footsteps to their left, they fired off a round, but instead of hitting their target, they hit another one of the gas canisters, and more of the noxious fog filled the room.

 _Oh gods._ Even with their mask and the thick garments protecting their body, they could feel the bite of the toxins sinking into them. They wouldn’t be able to fight if they were succumbing to noxious fumes, and if they couldn’t _fight_ , then—

No, _surely_ the gods had use for them yet; as a last-ditch effort, they moved to sprint out of the room. They had almost made it when something slammed into them from behind again, knocking them down onto their front.

 _Skít._ Bloodhound quickly flipped themself over, only to be stopped from rising by a heavy boot on their chest. They were already reaching for their knife when they felt a hand on the top of their head.

No.

“You fought well the first time,” said a deep voice from the gloom, “but in the end, no one gets the better of Caustic.”

_No._

But before they could react, their mask was pulled from their head, and they felt the burn of the gas in their lungs, against their skin.

More importantly, Bloodhound felt desperation. Anger. _Hatred._

Their vision went red, focusing in on the figure looming above them, and they whipped the knife from their holster and stabbed it through his boot, through the flesh, in _just_ the right spot to twist it between the bones of his ankle.

There was a shout of pain, and as the pressure lifted, Bloodhound sprung up from the ground like a panther. With a single powerful kick, they knocked Caustic to the floor. Lightning fast, Bloodhound pounced on top of him, full of rage and adrenaline; flipping their knife for a better grip, they raised their arm back and then stabbed the blade into his chest.

And then they stabbed him again. And again. And again.

“Attention: winner decided!”

And again.

They only stopped when they could feel the harsh sting of the poisonous gas through their adrenaline rush, and they paused to pull their mask out of Caustic’s death-grip and slide it back on. They took a few deeps breaths, mostly for the sake of clearing their lungs, but also to calm down.

It had been so long since anyone had had the gall to even try to pull their mask off. Fortunately, Bloodhound was fairly certain that with such thick smog filling the room, Caustic hadn’t actually seen their face. With one last deep breath, they rose and stepped out of the slowly-clearing room, into the sunlight and fresh air, where they could see the drones and dropships approaching to clean up the mess of the battle. It was over.

Or so they had thought.

About a week later, as Bloodhound was sifting through a pile of fanmail—while they might not reply to them, they still read and appreciated them all the same—they came across a large manilla envelope, bearing no return address and a stamp that said “IMPORTANT” in urgent red letters.

Bloodhound had thought that it might have been a missive from their merchandiser (regarding the marketing or production of the replica masks, perhaps), which was why it was such an earth-stopping shock when they shook out the contents of the letter to see several expertly-drawn, lovingly-detailed images of… their face.

It took a minute for Bloodhound to find their breath, and not long afterward, they realized just what this meant for them. Caustic had actually seen their face after all—and he had every reason in the book to show it to the world.

After that, for the first time since they’d become a regular contender, Bloodhound did not return to the Apex Games. They had packed a bag, and decided to take a long trip into a nearby, densely-wooded forest to calm their nerves. If they came back to myriad news announcements titled ‘Bloodhound Unmasked!’ or the like, well… they would deal with that when the time came.

For the moment, they had needed to reconnect with nature. It was time to consider the blessings the gods had given them, and wonder if perhaps they had decided to instead curse them for their pride, which had definitely been prevalent since they’d won the last several games. At this point, Bloodhound desired nothing more than to get back to their roots, and pray for guidance.

But upon their return, and to their surprise, the only news about them was avid discussion about where they had gone, and what their disappearance might mean for the other Apex contenders. It was astounding, quite frankly, and Bloodhound wasn’t sure what to think until they returned to their living quarters to find several more manilla envelopes waiting for them.

It was more than unnerving at this point. If Caustic wasn’t going to tell everyone, but instead keep... _harassing_ them like this, then he clearly wanted something. And Bloodhound found out what it was as they opened the last envelope.

Underneath a depiction of their face bearing a furious grimace, there were the scrawled words, “Don’t keep me waiting. Next Apex Games, meet me at Landing Pad. You will not bring any of your squadmates.”

This… this sounded like a death sentence. Despite having only a few interactions with the chemist, Bloodhound knew enough about him to understand what kind of man he was, and what he was capable of. And while it was simple, Bloodhound could tell that every single part of the note looked thoroughly planned out. No one ever dropped at Landing Pad, so it was conceivable that if things went wrong, Bloodhound couldn’t rely on their squadmates, or even any other teams, to distract Caustic and allow them to escape.

The odds were not at all in their favor, but... perhaps the gods had decided to give them a challenge? And yet, what would they even be proving through this test?

Alas, the will of the Allfather was sometimes difficult to glean.

They supposed they could go with this plan. If their merit in combat was to be tested, they could think of no other person besides Caustic who deserved to be knocked down by the gods’ instrument of divine wrath.

As Bloodhound boarded the dropship, they could feel only a potent mixture of anticipation and dread. Looking around the bay, however, it seemed that Caustic was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was further in?

A few minutes of silent watching passed. Maybe he hadn’t come at all... Bloodhound wasn’t sure if they should be relieved in the event Caustic was a no-show. They’d like to settle this today. Find out what he wanted, and if he asked for more than Bloodhound could give, they could always try to intimidate him. They knew that many people were afraid of them—the way they carried themself with deadly intent; the large, dark lenses of their mask like gaping sockets.

But Bloodhound had already killed Caustic twice, and he still wanted to meet. _For a scientist, the_ hálfviti _needs some common sense,_ Bloodhound mused, _but perhaps knowing when to quit is a valuable gift the gods do not bestow on everyone._

Finally a loud, mechanical whine and an intense gust of wind from the opening of the dropship hatch signaled that it was time to go. A large majority of the squads jumped immediately, including Bloodhound’s teammates, and it was with great reluctance that they stayed behind.

As the dropship moved closer to their destination, they took one last look around the seemingly empty bay before jumping from the ship and angling their trajectory towards Landing Pad.

They were halfway there when it occurred to Bloodhound that rushing in without armor or a gun could be a grave mistake. They changed direction at the last moment, gliding toward the edge of Repulsor Station instead.

Several other teams had decided to drop in the area, and so Bloodhound made a considerable effort to sneak through the buildings undetected. For their troubles, the only useful thing they found was an light pistol and some ammo. They’d hoped for something that might protect them, but the weapon itself might just give them enough of an edge, and regardless, they had no time to waste; any further looting would just be stalling the inevitable.

They quickly crossed the open plains that lay between Repulsor Station and Landing Pad, skirting through taller patches of scrub to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. But when they were finally standing in front of the small building, they felt another pang of unease. Gripping the handle of their sheathed knife for the reassurance it provided, they mounted the stairs and opened the door.

Immediately, their senses were on high alert, looking to find any threats that might be waiting for them inside, but the area was all but barren. No traps, and there was only one heat signature in here that mattered: Caustic, who was indeed waiting for them, leaning against a wall with a bored expression on his face.

“I was certain you were going to be punctual. What a disappointment,” he deadpanned.

Bloodhound sneered. “You should be grateful I showed up at all, _mannfýla_.”

Caustic cocked his head to the side, looking vaguely puzzled. “Does your anonymity really matter so little to you? Would it not bother you to see your face plastered on every holovid broadcast across the Frontier?”

Bloodhound grit their teeth. “You are the only one who has seen my face for a very long time. No one would be able to confirm it. And perhaps,” Bloodhound said, drawing their knife and stalking forward, “I could put a dent in the ground using your head, until you are no longer capable of remembering.”

Despite their threat, Caustic remained where he was. There was no panic or fear in his eyes; rather, his gaze was cold and emotionless. “If you think I don’t have copies stashed away in my lab, you’re less intelligent than I’d anticipated.” When Bloodhound only growled in response, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to bargain with you. As it so happens, I have already thought out the terms of an agreement that would benefit the both of us.”

“And what would that be?”

Caustic dug out a small notepad from one of the pockets on his lab suit and continued, “I merely aim to conduct a simple experiment, based around my theories of how the human brain reacts to its approaching demise. I want to know what goes on in the mind and body as it struggles through a long, drawn-out death.”

Bloodhound had no words to express their distaste, and they took a moment before finally asking the damning question. “Is that why you have called me here? To be your _subject?_ ”

Caustic actually had the audacity to laugh, but it broke off rather quickly as the strain reduced him to coughing. “No,” he said as he recovered, “That would be a waste of both of our time. My experiment works on two conditions: that there be the condemned, who is acutely aware of each injury inflicted upon them; and the executioner, who is a master in the art of inflicting pain. Someone who enjoys brutality, but also has the self-control to make sure I get a valid set of data. Do you understand?”

Bloodhound balked at the implications of his words. “You want me to kill you.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to kill you painfully.”

“As many times as it takes to gather enough data.” Caustic added.

Bloodhound stared at Caustic, suddenly overwhelmed with a bitter incredulousness. “I am a hunter, not a sadist. I do not take kindly to your insinuations that I am a ‘brute’, either.” Sheathing their knife, they took a step back, away from Caustic. “This ‘experiment’ of yours is abhorrent, and I want no part in it.”

“A pity,” Caustic mocked. “If you recall, you really don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Bloodhound clenched their fists, the leather of their gloves creaking loudly under the pressure.

The scientist continued, “If you comply, then I get my test results, and you get to keep the world ignorant of how you truly look. And perhaps, you may grow to find it enjoyable?”

“I truly doubt it,” Bloodhound answered, shaking their head in disbelief.

“Would you not find it rewarding to end the life of someone who has irritated you, or slighted you in such a way?”

“I do not kill on a whim, as you do,” Bloodhound refuted, “Nor do I take down opponents who do not get a chance to fight back. There is no honor in such a death.”

Caustic sighed. “Your morality truly is a detriment to your capabilities.” He straightened up from where he was leaning, and took a step forward. “I personally have my own creeds, but they don’t amount to any more than a distaste for getting my hands dirty.” Caustic increased his pace, and as he got closer, he raised his fist back, “But I’ll set a proper example by making you the exception.”

Bloodhound dodged to the side, Caustic’s fist just barely skimming the edge of their waist. Immediately afterward, they drew their knife and lunged, tearing a jagged slash over his stomach.

Caustic stumbled back for a moment before charging forward once more. Bloodhound went to dodge again, but Caustic was prepared for it this time, and he stuck out a foot to trip them.

They didn’t quite go sprawling to the ground; they were on their feet again much too quickly for that. But now, with those few moments of precious time lost, they no longer had the advantage of preparing for Caustic’s blows as he swung at them. He landed a solid punch to their gut, and Bloodhound gasped, wheezing slightly as they staggered.

But they wouldn’t let this wretched man beat them. They refused. Ducking below Caustic’s following punch, they managed to sink the blade into his side, the rubber apron doing little to actually protect him from harm.

The scientist grunted at the pain, and struck down with his elbow, catching Bloodhound in the head, and they fell to the ground. As they did, they never lost their grip on the knife, and it pulled downward in a deep gash.

“Fuck,” Caustic hissed, pressing a hand to his side to assess the depth of the wound. This gave Bloodhound enough time for recover from the blow, and they charged at Caustic, slamming into him and sending them both toppling down.

Once the scuffling died down, Bloodhound found themself sitting on Caustic’s chest with their knife pressed to his neck.

Caustic chuckled to himself, before gazing up at Bloodhound with a strange look in his eyes. “See? You excel at this. This is what you were put here to do, ‘hunter of the gods’.”

Bloodhound withdrew their knife, even as anger began to well up inside them. “You can’t possibly comprehend the will of the gods.”

“I suppose not. I’ve never cared much for theology, myself,” Caustic said with a shrug, “But you do have a natural talent for violence, that much is undeniable. Since we last fought, your proficiency in causing pain has... captivated my imagination.” Almost innocently, he rested a hand on their knee.

Bloodhound all but growled, grabbing the offending hand and pinning it to the floor before sticking their knife through it. Blood oozed out from the wound as Caustic let out a pained yell, and as he did, Bloodhound leaned down to hiss, “You’re disgusting.”

As Caustic recovered his composure, breathing heavily from the strain of his injury, he had the audacity to reply, “And you’re holding back.”

“You’re not worth my full effort, _kúkalabbi_.”

Caustic tried to free his hand from the knife buried into the floor with little success. He grunted, “But you _do_ care about your identity. And quite frankly, we are talking in circles.” He finally managed to pull the knife out with his other hand, but even as Bloodhound shifted to dodge a potential slash, he merely held it out to them. “You’re going to do as I say. The only other option is a lot less pleasing for both of us.”

Bloodhound stared at the knife in his hand, presented to them like a gift. They didn’t have the words to express how... _uncomfortable_ the entire situation was. But they couldn’t see any solutions beyond what was being offered to them, and no guidance from the Allfather came to them in their moment of crisis.

Reluctantly, they took the knife back from Caustic, and they stared down at him as he tried to steady his breathing. He looked so... eager, and it was disconcerting enough to throw Bloodhound off.

 _He’s_ asking _for it. Just this once, and then I’ll think of a way to put it to an end._

Bloodhound let out a sigh of defeat, and with as much resolve as they could muster, they lifted the knife up into the air, and aimed it true. The blade pierced through his rubber apron and sunk into his chest, and blood quickly bloomed from the point of impact when they removed it.

Caustic wheezed beneath them—perhaps their knife had pierced a lung—but he managed to cough out, “That was nothing. You can do better than that.”

Bloodhound was completely taken aback at his dismissiveness; still, they raised their arm once more, and this time sunk the blade into his abdomen, dragging it down and carving a deep gash from the bottom of his sternum to his navel. Caustic let out a pained gasp and writhed beneath them, causing them to falter for a moment. _Why am I doing this?_

Bloodhound had hunted and killed prey many times before, and did not shy away from doing what was necessary in the arena. But as Caustic lay still on his back, not attempting to get away even as he heaved for air, blood trickling out of the gaping wound and staining his apron, they felt almost ill. A strange weight sat in them, as though they had a stone in their stomach.

They couldn’t do this. They’d find some other way to keep Caustic quiet. But for now, they refused to play by his rules. They stood suddenly, fishing in their pockets for a disposable piece of cloth to clean their blade with.

“What... are you doing?” Caustic gurgled. Bloodhound glared down at him, tossing the now bloodied piece of cloth aside. When they didn’t deign to give him a response, he attempted to sit up, only to let out a yell as beginning the action caused him too much pain to complete it. “Come back here!”

Bloodhound gave Caustic a last, scornful look before throwing the door of the building open and turning their back on him as they left. They’d get out of this. They had to.

——

“You came back. Excellent.” Caustic greeted Bloodhound as they entered their secluded meeting spot for the second time. He clasped his hands behind his back, looking pleased with himself.

Bloodhound knew they themself did _not_ look pleased. Their body language probably radiated tension, and they scowled before digging into their pack and pulling out a small holopad bearing a tabloid article with the blaring headline:

_ANONYMOUS TIPPER TANTALIZES WITH HINTS ABOUT BLOODHOUND’S TRUE APPEARANCE_

Bloodhound threw it to the ground before stomping on it, shattering the screen under their heel with a _crunch_. “You did not give me much choice,” they hissed.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Caustic said, waving a hand and rolling his eyes. “I only spoke about your eye colors. The consequences could’ve been more severe. But I decided that your first instance of disobedience merely required a simple warning. Hopefully that will be the _only_ instance. Do you understand?”

Bloodhound seethed. First there was the treachery of revealing even a single shred of detail about how they looked, their most treasured secret. But that this man, this... abomination, had the audacity to talk down to them like this, after what he did. Like they were a servant. “I am doing you a favor,” they spat out. “You do not get to treat me like this.” They flexed their fingers, rage flowing through them.

It did not escape Caustic’s notice. “You’re angry. Good,” he said, ignoring their protest in favor of voicing his own, worthless opinion. “Use it. It will make it easier for you, and more... interesting, for me.”

Despite their anger, Bloodhound felt that roiling sense of unease again. Under their breath, they muttered, “Allfather, give me strength.” _The strength to save myself from this._ Then, reaching back into that still-blazing core of rage inside them, Bloodhound took a deep breath, felt their muscles coil like those of a lion about to pounce, and then launched themself at Caustic.

As they lunged, he didn’t even flinch, which quite frankly pissed them off even more. They darted behind him and kicked the back of his kneecap, causing him to crumple down onto it with a quiet grunt. With Caustic kneeling on the ground, his head was at just the right height for Bloodhound to wrap one arm tight around his neck in a chokehold-like grip, bracing the other hand underneath his chin. He didn’t fight them at all, simply remaining placid in their limbs, even as they began the long process—tedious for them, and painful for him—of applying strain to the neck muscles.

Everything about the man was _infuriating_.

 _In terms of technique, I suppose it’s better that he doesn’t struggle,_ Bloodhound thought detachedly as they braced their arms.

As their grip tightened even further, they finally got a reaction from Caustic, who let out a choked gasp as he began to suffer from his airway being restricted. Still, somehow, he found the breath to speak. “That’s—haahh—that’s better.”

They would expect him to sound breathless from the incidental asphyxiation, but said breathlessness in his tone carried a certain quality about it that repelled Bloodhound immensely, and their muscles tensed with gods-given strength to finally yank his head up and back, with a deeply satisfying _snap_.

As Caustic went limp in their arms, only one thought resounded in their head. _Satisfying?_

No. It—it was deserved, but... no, surely not _satisfying_.

As they came down from the rush, it took them a moment to realize they were still holding onto Caustic’s corpse, and they quickly dropped it, disgusted.

——

The screaming was getting tiresome.

 _He said he wanted this,_ Bloodhound thought, jaw locked in a scowl as they sliced through the last bit of flesh securing Caustic’s left arm to his body. _He could at least take it with some dignity._ It dropped to the ground with a meaty _thunk_. They grabbed the bleeding limb and tossed it to the side.

“If you do not quiet down,” Bloodhound snapped at the man groaning below them, “I will stop and just let you bleed out now.”

Caustic took a deep, wheezing breath before growling out, “Finish what you started.”

Bloodhound rolled their eyes, gripped the handle of their machete—their hunting knife alone obviously would not be able to do the job—and adjusted their position slightly, leaning toward the right as they straddled his chest to hold his remaining arm against the ground. They briefly utilized their shorter blade to rip and tear the plastic-like fabric around the pinned limb’s shoulder, allowing them access to the pockmarked flesh below.

They took a moment to ground themself. They’d cut off the limbs of animals they’d hunted in the past, to make the meat easier to carry. This was... well, quite clearly _not_ the same, but they could perhaps pretend?

They lowered the machete against the skin of the arm and began to slowly—Caustic had been quite clear that they were not to hack the limb off in a single blow— _slice_ into it.

Caustic hissed at the initial cut, but didn’t make any further noises, for the moment. “So you’re capable of learning,” Bloodhound said under their breath, and they pulled back the blade, reading for the next bit of carving.

Caustic gave a dry croak of a laugh. “You act like I didn’t spend the time required to get my PhD.”

Bloodhound didn’t comment—their statement had been rhetorical, but they knew by now that Caustic loved hearing the sound of his own voice—and instead pushed the blade forward with a bit more force, shearing through tough muscle in order to make their way through to the center, where the bone lay.

That would be the hard part.

“Fuck!” Caustic shouted.

Still, not quite as hard as having to sit through Caustic’s agonized cries. Part of them felt ill, another part was anger—simmering below the surface—and part of them, well...

They tried not to think about that part.

The part that had flared in sick _satisfaction_ when they had snapped Caustic’s neck.

As Bloodhound’s machete rested against solid bone, Caustic writhed beneath them, making it difficult to prepare for the necessary following strike. They raised a hand and smacked him hard across the jaw, the sound echoing in the mostly-empty room. “Be still,” they muttered. “You are making this more difficult than it need be.”

Caustic’s eyes were wide as he stared at them, blessedly speechless. And in that moment, they raised their blade, aimed it true, and with a solid _hack_ they smashed through the bone.

Which again set Caustic screaming.

By the time they finished the cut all the way to the other side, and the limb flopped down, his voice had gone hoarse. All Caustic could do was let out a pathetic whimper, and at the sound, just briefly... another sudden _jolt_ of satisfaction.

Dear gods, how were they going to make it through this?

Instead of waiting for another moment to clear their head—best to get this over as soon as possible—they shifted to a crouching position before they moved down lower over Caustic’s prone form.

They grabbed the bottom half of Caustic’s apron and lifted it up, pulling his left leg to the side before letting the rubber flap drop onto his chest, out of the way. It was as they moved to rip the fabric of his pants leg that their gaze happened to drift slightly and—

Oh.

Oh, _gods_.

They had known in their heart of hearts that there was some amount of... gratification that Caustic received from the sordid situation they were stuck in, but it was a hard pill to swallow as they found themself unable to look away from his erection pressing through the fabric of his pants—

“Do you like what you see?” Caustic rasped, “You _are_ staring.” They suddenly looked back at him, filled with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, both at their predicament and at the man’s sheer audacity. They could hear the grin his voice when he wheezed out, “Have you grown to enjoy this arrangement too?”

Immediately they lunged upwards to his head, and ripped the gas mask from his face. Caustic arched an eyebrow, but didn’t have time to comment as Bloodhound wrenched his mouth open, got a grip between the corner of his mouth and on his bottom set of teeth, and pulled down _hard_ on his lower jaw.

Another satisfying _crack_.

——

“I don’t believe I like your attitude,” Caustic commented dryly as Bloodhound once again entered the base at Landing Pad.

Their fists clenched, and they took a deep breath in, hoping to steady themself. “I agreed to your deal for the sake of protecting me and mine; _not_ for that.” They unsheathed their machete in one fluid motion and lightly ran a gloved finger along the sharp end of the blade. “Your advances are... highly unappreciated.”

“Irrelevant,” Caustic grunted. “You cannot allow your own insecurities to compromise the integrity of my research.”

“Insecurities?” Bloodhound repeated, dumbfounded. “This is a business arrangement, and you are—you are _tainting_ it with your vulgarity.”

Caustic rolled his eyes. “This argument is wasting time.” He reached a hand over his shoulder and pulled a medkit from within his backpack. He swiftly tossed it at Bloodhound, and they caught it one-handed with ease. When they cocked their head at him curiously, he clasped his hands together and said, “You disappointed me last time by rushing the finish. You will remedy that this time by bringing me to the edge of death before applying the medkit. Then you may continue.”

Every time Bloodhound assumed Caustic couldn’t disgust them further, he brought out some new depth of depravity.

Bloodhound sighed through gritted teeth before resheathing their machete. “Get on the floor, _andskotinn_. And remove your mask.”

Caustic looked at them askance, and Bloodhound was ever so slightly pleased to see a look of calculating concern in his gaze. “What purpose would that serve, may I ask?”

“It gives me an easy path through which I can shut you up, as I sometimes need. Get on the floor. I would like to get this over with.” And before Caustic could argue, Bloodhound, at the end of their patience, simply strode forward and made the choice for him. With enough strength behind their push, he toppled to the ground with ease, making the metal floor shudder.

From his position below them, Caustic stared up at them wide-eyed, some unreadable emotion crossing his features. Solemnly, he raised a hand to his mask, unbuckling it and dropping it to the side.

“ _Það er gott_. You know your place,” Bloodhound said, finally breaking eye contact to rifle about in one of the pouches at their hip. It wasn’t long before they pulled out a thick strip of worn leather, which they tossed onto his chest. “You will want to bite down on that.”

Caustic took the piece of leather in hand, glancing at it curiously before looking back at Bloodhound with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. “And what do you intend to do today?”

Bloodhound took a knee, sinking down to the ground until they were straddling his waist—and by the gods, they didn’t want to sit _there_ of all places, but today they had no choice—and pulled out their short blade, holding it over Caustic’s chest with a precise, unshaking grip. “Why don’t you find out, _ónytjungur _?”__

__And with the practiced hand of one who has hunted and dealt with prey many a time, Bloodhound slid the tip of their blade into the flesh and fat just below his sternum, and the knife glided through his skin as they slit him open from there to the base of his stomach._ _

__Caustic’s screams rang out in the small room, the sound bouncing off the walls and aggravating Bloodhound. They hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet._ _

___Not, ah, not the_ good _part, no, but the most painful part,_ they corrected themself, _the part he would like the most,_ and with the most precise part of the torture over, they dug their fingers into the sides of the open slit and pulled, wrenching at the flabby flesh to get access to what they were seeking just beneath._ _

__Disregarding the copious bleeding, they zoned in on the many organs that the human torso contained. There were many choices to pick from, assuming they could distract themself from the sound of Caustic yelling long enough to actually select one._ _

__Oh, but they _had_ given him a gag. _Of course he can’t be trusted to follow instructions._ Bloodhound leaned over and pulled the leather out of his clenched hand, promptly wadding it and stuffing it into his open mouth. “I believe I asked for quiet,” Bloodhound hissed._ _

__They leaned back into place— _oh gods, he’s hard again_ —readying themself to undertake the task before them, and decided that the correct choice was to dive right in, so they reached into the now gaping wound and pulled out a strand of intestines with each hand._ _

__They stared somewhat detachedly at the wriggling, pulsing tubes as Caustic writhed below them, his pained noises now blessedly muffled. The last time they had split him open, they had asked themself why they were doing this. They had thought no blackmail could be great enough to have them willingly cause prolonged harm to another being._ _

__Bloodhound respected their enemies. They shut the eyes of the dead, or gave them a kind salute, and they always said a prayer as they moved on, wishing the souls to the misty forests of Hel._ _

__They did _not_ have this respect for Caustic. Was that what made it so easy for them to bring him pain? Was that why they had to keep reminding themself that this was _not_ right, that Caustic must be sick in order to enjoy such torment, that if _they_ were to start enjoying it..._ _

__No, they could never allow themself to let that happen. And yet..._ _

__Bloodhound squished the fleshy tubes in their grasp, merely for the sake of it, and Caustic convulsed beneath them, so Bloodhound redirected their attention toward the injured man. He was even paler than usual, and it dawned on Bloodhound that he was rapidly bleeding out. Oh, of course, he had asked to be healed, to even _further_ increase the duration of his suffering._ _

__Was there a kind of strength in that? Perhaps... Bloodhound wasn’t sure. But they let go of one of the slippery organs in order to pick up the medkit injector and jab it into his wrist. Color gradually flooded back into Caustic’s features, and he let out a strained gasp around the leather in his mouth. His organs gave a wet pulse and fresh blood began seeping out from the open wound. His erection twitched beneath their hips._ _

__It was all... certainly a sight to behold..._ _

__Bloodhound dug their hands into the mess of intestines and began pulling them out by the handful. They had a job to do, and they were going to do it; in fact, if their match timer was right, the two of them still had about three minutes left to themselves before the first ring began to close._ _

__And what Caustic didn’t know was that they still had a spare medkit in their pack._ _

____

——

Bloodhound didn’t give Caustic a chance to start talking. They were on him before he could speak, swinging a fist into his cheek.

Caustic reeled at the force, letting out a surprised grunt. He had clearly not been quite prepared for the hit, but it didn’t knock him back very far, so Bloodhound landed their next punch solidly into his gut. When the scientist doubled over, letting out a pathetic wheeze, Bloodhound planted both hands on his back and pushed him down hard so they could slam their knee into his chest. _That_ sent him to the floor.

He landed facedown, but slowly leaned on his forearm to prop himself up as he coughed, the sound rattling and wet. When he attempted to get up onto his hands and knees, Bloodhound promptly struck down onto his back with the heel of their boot, and he flopped back onto the floor at the blow. “You would do well to stay down,” Bloodhound growled.

Mercifully, Caustic listened. They took a moment to watch him as he lay on the ground below him, simply observing his prone and breathless form before crouching lower and grabbing him by the shoulders.

Caustic was a rather heavyset man, but Bloodhound had ample enough strength to flip him over before promptly dropping him onto his back, and his head hit the ground with a _smack_.

It was like a flash of inspiration struck them, and they quickly straddled his hips before grabbing his head in both hands and lifting it up before quickly striking it onto the floor. Caustic yelped—actually _yelped_ —at the impact, and Hound couldn’t stop a small smile from quirking the corners of their lips. _That will work._ Again, they raised his head and they smacked it down hard into the cold metal below.

Bloodhound was about to do it a third time, when suddenly—

“W-wait, wait, stop.”

They had already been in the motions for the third blow, and it was an effort to still their muscles at the last second and halt their movements. Wide-eyed, they looked down at Caustic, surprised that he had asked for mercy, and even more surprised that such an admission... _disappointed_ them.

They let go of his head, yanking their hands away like they’d been scalded. “What? What is it?”

Caustic’s gaze was slightly unfocused, and he blinked his eyes a few times as he took in a few shaky breaths. When his eyes finally met theirs through the foggy glass of their mask, they couldn’t believe that what they saw was _smugness_. “Having a rough day?” He asked, tone full of mock-sympathy.

Bloodhound stiffened, immediately back on guard. They had to resist the urge to cross their arms as they huffed, “Each day is ‘rough’ when I only have this to look forward to.”

“Ah,” Caustic said, and they could hear the smile in his voice when he added, “But you _are_ looking forward to it, then.” Immediately Bloodhound lashed out with a fist, catching the same bruising spot on his cheek as before, and Caustic groaned beneath their hand. “Fuck.”

Bloodhound could feel their fury slowly mounting again. “You know that is not what I meant.”

Caustic shook his head, lifting a hand to his mask and pulling it off so he could spit out a bloody tooth. He grinned a gap-toothed grin at them as he said, “Are you so sure about that?”

And then he rolled his hips beneath theirs, and—fuck—

They couldn’t stop themself from grinding back down to meet his movements, because—by the gods, it—it felt _good_.

How had they grown aroused without noticing it?

And, more importantly, _why?!_

They were so distressed by this... this _revelation_ that when Caustic began to laugh at them, a deep but snide chuckling, they grabbed his head once more, gripping it tightly between shaking hands. They banged his head down once—

”You,”

—twice—

”have,”

—a third time—

” _ruined_ me!”

They let go of his head after that. Clearly both of them needed a moment. And indeed, there was a long pause before Caustic finally rasped, “No. Not ruined.”

Bloodhound focused back in on him, cocking their head. They felt practically feral, and they were willing to take reassurance wherever they could get it, even if it came from _him_. “What then, if not made foul by _you_?”

“You had potential. Anyone with two eyes could see it, _especially_ after the day I laid a trap for you in one of the settlements. You have a beast inside you, Bloodhound,” he said, smiling again with bared, bloody teeth, “And I was the only one who had the sense to encourage it.”

Bloodhound stared at him, utterly confounded. “And what good could come of something like that?”

Caustic shrugged. “I like it. And apparently _you_ have started to like it as well. All you need, really, is two people who are in want of the same thing, and can agree to share it with each other.”

Bloodhound shook their head, raising their hands upward to hold it. “I _didn’t_ want it!” They bemoaned, and then they looked back down on him, struggling to shift their tone into something accusatory. “ _You_ did this to me!”

“Perhaps so,” Caustic conceded. “But what are you going to do with it now?”

“I—” Bloodhound stopped, words caught in their chest as Caustic suddenly thrusted up into them again, and their breath stuttered in their throat.

“Do what you need to take care of it,” Caustic said, and the eagerness in his voice was hard to miss as he continued, “I am yours to use as you please.”

Bloodhound was silent for a while before they could bring themself to speak. “As I please?” They grasped his head between their hands once more, grip soft for a moment before digging their fingers in. “Then I chose _this_.”

And this time, they slammed his head into the ground with enough force to put a dent in the floor.

Caustic did not move after that.

On shaky legs, they stumbled off his body, backing up until they hit a wall and could move no further. They stared down at their hands, only slightly wet with blood this time. They rubbed the tacky red fluid between two fingertips, solemnly contemplating it.

Finally they sighed, and they pulled one of the gloves off, tossing it to the ground as they lowered that hand between their legs.

It would be best to take care of this quick. They still needed to win the games—after that, they could think on... all of this.

——

It was dusk as Bloodhound stood before a quiet, unassuming house on the edge of one of Solace’s less populated towns. It was small and painted white, with a blooming garden out the front.

It was difficult to believe that such a picturesque little home housed such an awful man. _But then,_ Bloodhound supposed, _he was always one to be filled with surprises._

They treaded silently up the walkway and made their way to the front door, which was unlocked, as had been promised. They took a moment to try and make the right decision to leave, before cursing themself and entering.

Caustic was sitting on a threadbare couch in a sparsely-furnished living room, clad only in casual evening-wear and waiting for them in a darkness pierced only by a single lamp-light. “Good to see that you’re on time for once,” Caustic purred. “Eager?”

Bloodhound scoffed. “I should be asking you the same,” they said, gesturing to his briefs where they could already see his cock stirring.

“I am always eager to engage in an experiment,” Caustic said casually, as though signing up for his own torture—with no safety net of resurrection, this time—was something that he didn’t have to think twice about. “It was... interesting to spend the evening imagining what you might do to me, to meet both of our needs without ending in my death. So please,” Caustic said, standing up from the couch and moving closer until he occupied all the space before Bloodhound. “Don’t make me wait,” he said, voice a low growl.

Before he could make any further moves, Bloodhound grabbed him by the throat, whirling him around and pinning him against a nearby wall. “And what worse torture,” Bloodhound asked dryly, “than to be made to wait?” They tightened their hand, not giving him the chance to gather enough air to speak. “Remember, I do not do this for your pleasure. You will have to wring whatever drops of it you may glean from what I give you.”

They loosened their hand, allowing him to gasp in a few precious breaths. “And you,” Caustic panted, “what about _your_ pleasure?”

Bloodhound gave a small, dry smile, one they were thankful he couldn’t see. “I don’t think you will need to worry about that, _drulludeli_.”


End file.
